Lean on Me
by Pumpkingirl
Summary: Takes place after s07e15, The Crossing. Luka breaks down after he realises he doesn't know how to live without guilt anymore, because guilt controlled his whole life after losing his family. Abby is around.


Luka should have felt relieved, but he breathed heavily. _Emptiness_ slid in and out of him with every lungful of air; the residue of the burden that has just been lifted off him. It still tickled his airways, made his eyes water – was he crying? For the Bishop? Or for himself? Why didn't he feel anything?

He must surely have felt something, for tears ran down his cheeks, but the sentiment – the acknowledge of it – did not come, not even when he tasted the salt on his tongue. It frightened him, the _emptiness_ , and he had to lean on the doorframe for a moment before he left the Bishop's room, to give himself a minute to weigh it up. It was like a phantom limb, itching through the air he sucked in with the next breath, and the next.

His guilt had haunted him for so many years the existence without it was unfathomable for Luka. Guilt had defined him: gave him a purpose, burned him from the inside, tore him apart and built him up at the same time. Guilt required penance, it pulled him out of the bed every morning, it banished the thoughts of suicide from his head.

Guilt was balance… And right now, being drained of it, Luka was staggering.

' _They were a gift of love and life_ ' said the Bishop and Luka was wondering why he couldn't remember _that_ lately whenever he thought of his family, why he only ever seemed to register the pain over their loss and the bitter remorse that nudged him to do his duty every day.

He didn't really know how he reached the elevator, his brain skipped seconds and minutes as he went over the conversation with the priest again and again in his head.

' _You are a gift of love and life_ ' said the Bishop, but Luka wouldn't have dared to believe that. He was more like a shell than a man in many aspects.

When this conclusion hit him, perhaps as a defence mechanism his mind suddenly started conjuring images of Abby for him; Abby suturing a wound, Abby drinking her morning coffee in his hotel room, Abby in his arms, and something stirred deep inside him. Perhaps he was still a man in _some_ aspects after all…

He slumped against the elevator wall while it was descending. He was exhausted, but his mind was restless, because the absolution he received threatened to change him to his very core. He wanted to undo it, he wanted to go back and speak to the Bishop, tell him he could have saved his wife, convince him it was his fault. He wanted to refuse God's mercy, because he wasn't ready to forgive himself.

To forgive was to let go. Finding peace was just over the corner, but he'd been a haunted man for too long. That's what who he was and he wasn't ready to be someone else.

For a brief second after he arrived in the main area he thought he should look for Abby, ask for help, but he realised he didn't know what kind of help he was seeking exactly, so he quickly discarded the idea. He was afraid he would break down in front of her and that couldn't happen. His lungs were _empty_ , he desperately needed fresh air. It was still snowing, even though the snowflakes were barely visible in the pre-dawn mist.

Luckily he didn't meet any colleagues on his way out; he was sure he could have only slurred unintelligible words at them right now and he didn't need company anyhow.

The touch of the snowflakes on his face seemed to calm his feverish mind a bit, but as he was walking towards the end of the alleyway he suddenly felt very weak and tired. He all but fell against the brick wall on the street and with some effort he lowered himself down into sitting position. With his back against the wall he tried to fight the sudden nausea by putting his head between his knees.

After a minute or two his breathing slowly normalized and finally he could appreciate the cold that surrounded him, because it was a solid blanket that held him in one piece. He lay his head back against the wall and closed his eyes. He could finally let go.

E.R.

'Luka!... Luka!' Abby tried to shake him awake, her panicky voice must have filled the alley.

His lips were blue, his wet hair stuck against his forehead and he didn't seem to respond for a while.

When at last his eyelids quivered, it took him forever to open them.

'Abby…' he whispered her name like he didn't really believe she was there. He looked disoriented.

'I'm here, Luka', she reassured him laying a hand on his cheek. His skin was ice cold. 'How long have you been here?'

When he only hummed instead of answering Abby saw that she had to act first and ask questions later.

'We gotta get you inside. Do you think you can walk?'

'Sure, just give me a minute' Luka said and lifted his hands to rub his eyes. 'I barely feel my fingers', he announced with a shaky voice.

'Yeah, wonder why…' Abby grunted as she grabbed Luka by the elbow and started helping him up. 'You must have spent hours out here.'

'I don't think it's a good idea, Abby' Luka said as she held him up after he almost dropped down for a second time.

'It's fine, Luka, you can lean on me.' She put a hand around his torso and he supported himself on her shoulder. 'See, it works just fine.' For a moment he seemed to draw some strength from her words of reassurance.

They managed to enter the building before Luka passed out, but then Mark was there to help Abby support his weight.

E.R.

She didn't understand what happened. The last time she saw him, he was going to the Bishop. Abby was sure the man's death was what affected Luka so badly; he cared for him, she knew. Why he got so attached to that priest, she couldn't tell; he wouldn't say.

She sat with him, waiting, thinking. They warmed him up as much as they could and now he was sleeping. Abby stroked his hair and watched as his chest rose and fell in a soothing rhythm.

The truth was, Luka had always been an enigma to her. She always rested her head on that very chest at night and she could hear his heartbeat loud and clear. But as close as the beating was to her ear, so distant was its owner. He didn't share things with her, always kept her at arm's length.

Right now, she was so frustrated she wanted to cry, because he didn't come to her. He could have talked to her, she would have lent a sympathetic ear; she was ever so eager to offer comfort to him, if only he let her. It filled her with worry that he shut her out, because lately the only occasions she felt close to him was when they made love and that was little compensation for the time they spent 'apart'.

She gave him a smile when he resurfaced for a brief time and brushed his stray locks out of his eyes. Luka held her gaze but his face was deprived of any emotion.

'The Bishop died.' he stated simply, like he would have said _winters are cold._

'I know, Luka, I've heard' Abby nodded. 'I'm so sorry.'

Luka evidently struggled not to give in to the fatigue, he had something else to say.

'He took my balance with him. He took everything.' He pursed his lips and a single tear escaped from the corner of his eye.

Abby hated to see him like this, but this was a chance for her to console him and she was happy he didn't have the strength to refuse her efforts now.

'I already told you outside: you can lean on me, Luka. I am strong enough for the both of us.' She kissed his cheek and lingered over him for a moment. 'Sleep now. We'll figure everything out later.'

As Luka gave himself up to oblivion she prayed to a God she didn't believe in to be able to keep her word.


End file.
